In Varietate Puritas
by whitetiger91
Summary: After Voldemort's downfall, ministries around the world have put forth a law requiring all children with relatives involved in any capacity with the Dark Arts to be removed from their parents for the world's—and their own—safety. After all, they can't allow evil to conquer the world again... Chapter 1: For the Good of the Children (Ch 2 & 3 by secretfanficlover & White Eyebrow)


**_This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round 6, Bonus. _**

**_House/team: Gryffindor_**

**_Class subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts_**

**_Story category: Bonus (Multi-chapter Collaborative Bonus)_**

**_Chapter: 1/3_**

**_Prompt: 1. [Setting] Crypt_**

**_Word count: 2991 words (Google docs)_**

**_Beta: White Eyebrow, secretfanficlover, Tasha9315 (thanks to all of Gryffindor for their input and consistent effort this year)_**

**_Warnings: Mentions of child abuse (non-explicit)_**

**_Extra: There were a few historical inspirations for this story, including the 'Stolen Generation' in Australia (eg 'Rabbit-Proof Fence' movie/memoir) and events in WWII, as well as a nod to the Anne of Green Gables series—the utmost respect intended. 'In varietate puritas' is Latin for 'the purity in diversity.' _**

* * *

**In Varietate Puritas**

**Chapter one: For the Good of the Children**

"Terrible... just terrible…"

Marietta paused, a trowel in her hand, and looked at her husband. His eyes were furrowed as he paced around the crypt's small gated area, his blue eyes focused on the _Daily Prophet_. Leering out at her from the cover was the face of yet another Death Eater who, after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's downfall and several subsequent years on the run, had finally been caught.

"What's the matter, dear?" she asked.

"I just don't understand it. They do their part, help these children overcome their past, and how are they repaid? By being poisoned," Cormac said, scoffing. "One of the families who've taken in a child has been found dead in their home. According to this, their ward mixed poison hemlock into their dinner. They even killed the couple's young child. Disgusting."

The news sent a shiver up her spine, but she continued re-potting her roses around the steel gates. It wasn't the first horror story she'd heard about the children or their parents; last week, a wildfire had reportedly been started, injuring two Ministry workers. A few pure-bloods known to have dabbled in the Dark Arts had lit it in an attempt to stop the Ministry from taking their children to a safer house. If they only knew that the forced removals were for their own good, none of the fatalities or injuries would occur.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mari? It's not too late to change our minds. Even if he's not been taught to murder yet, he could already be a petty criminal."

Marietta smiled. "Nonsense. I'm excited to meet our little boy, and I'm sure it won't be as bad as we think. He'll need our support… Can you imagine what his life would be like if he was left with his parents? Who knows what sort of awful things they'd teach him. No, it's our duty to take him in and steer him clear of all that."

"Well, at least the Ministry's doing something. Stamp out the evilness early, that's what I say."

Although she was confident she'd be able to handle their ward, she made a mental note to hide her crystal ornaments later, just in case.

Sighing, she dusted the soil off her robes and admired her handiwork. The roses made the crypt's grey bricks less imposing, but only just. They weren't enough to hide the large stone gargoyle perched atop the tiled roof, nor the fact that the ornately-decorated iron doors led to something no child should really see. The crypt had been a part of her family farm for longer than she could remember, however, and as much as she tended to stay away from its cold depths, she didn't have the heart to remove it altogether.

She realised the roses would have to do, though; the sound of car tyres crunching against the stone driveway met her ears. "I think they're here," she said.

Adjusting her robes and fiddling with her curls, she quickly strode around the side of the crypt, Cormac at her heels.

A sleek black car was idling just outside the gate. The back door was open, and a squat woman in purple robes was leaning inside, wrestling with something. She soon moved back, pulling out a small boy who looked no older than eight. His brown hair shone in the sun, contrasting with the plain, white robes he was dressed in. From what the information packet said, they were the robes all rescued children were provided with—a pure colour, to remind them they had a fresh start.

"I want to go home! Where's Mummy? Daddy?" the boy said, struggling in the woman's grip.

"Come on, child," she said, tugging on the brunet's arm. "Hello, you must be Marietta. I'm Madam Dawlish."

"It's nice to finally meet you in person. This must be little John," Marietta said, striding towards the boy. "This is my husband, Cormac."

Cormac fixed a steely gaze on the boy, crossing his arms and standing so that his burly shoulders appeared even bigger. The boy stopped struggling, peering up at them with watery brown eyes. His lip trembled when he then spotted the gargoyle towering over them; with his free arm, he clutched more tightly onto a stuffed dragon.

"I apologise for our tardiness; we had a little trouble. The parents showed up at the Centre, thinking that they'd somehow be able to take him back," Madam Dawlish said. Catching Marietta's raised eyebrows, she added, "Oh, don't worry, Aurors were there, ready to put them in their place."

Marietta schooled her face back into a smile. "Not to worry, we're happy to be helping." She bent down, directing her smile at the boy. "I'm pleased to meet you, John."

He pouted. "My name's Pollux. I want to go home!"

She looked back up at Madam Dawlish. "The file said he was John—"

The blonde shook her head. "Don't worry about that. The children's names are changed to prevent their families from finding them—the ones who we can't quite prosecute yet—and to ensure all memories of their past are wiped. They begin with a new identity, you see.

"Mind you, the Ministry has only begun this here. In the States, they feel it's unnecessary; if you ask me, that's just begging for trouble. No, we need to do it the proper way, don't you agree?"

Marietta looked back at John, seeing tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks. She couldn't imagine anyone making her change her name, but she supposed the Ministry knew what they were doing. The boy's eyes flickered from the woman, whom he again tried to pull away from, to something behind Marietta. Turning around, she saw that he was focused on the field beyond the crypt.

"Alright, John, it's time to go into your new home," Madam Dawlish said.

The boy turned his attention to her and began to thrash around. "No! I want to go back to my home! MUMMY! DADDY! Where are you?"

"Hush now!"

The woman clicked her fingers, and the door of the car opened. Another tall wizard dressed in the same striking plum robes as the woman stepped out. Tipping his hat to her in greeting, he quickly clamped his hands around the boy's arm, restraining him. With Cormac's help, the men ushered him towards the house.

"Just one moment," Madam Dawlish said, jogging over to the boy.

She snatched the plush dragon from his grasp, causing more howls to erupt around the yard. She then walked briskly back over to the crypt's fence, rolling her eyes.

"Just a word of warning, this one's a runner. I advise you to keep him inside for the first few months. Keep your wand in sight, and try to abstain from using it whenever possible; we wouldn't want him getting any ideas. We'll revisit in a month to see how you're all faring," she said, opening the car door and sliding in. "Don't be afraid to use force; it'll be the only way he'll learn."

"Wait. What about that?"

The woman looked at the dragon as though it harboured fleas. "Ah yes, I forgot," she said, pinching it with the tips of her long nails. "Remember, we cannot encourage any memories of his sordid past."

Marietta bit her lip. Something told her that the dragon was more than just a plaything he'd forget about when presented with another toy.

"Er, allow me to destroy it."

The woman's thin lips rose into a smile and she handed it over. "Ah, just like your mother, Madame Edgecombe: always helpful. Well, best of luck, dear. _In varietate puritas_."

"_In varietate puritas,_" Marietta repeated as the woman shut the door.

The driver walked back to the car, silently getting inside. She heaved a sigh when it pulled away. She turned from the crypt to the house; John's future depended on her.

* * *

"How's he settling in?" Marietta whispered.

She was answered by the sound of glass shattering against the other side of the door. Cormac turned to her, his face red.

"In the twenty minutes he's been here, that little brat has practically destroyed the bedroom. Can't I just go in there and sort him out?" Cormac said.

Marietta laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Relax; I imagine it's really scary for him. From what I've been told," she winced as she heard the dresser drawers being slammed, "his parents were always too busy working to teach him properly."

"Yeah, the only thing they probably taught him was how to torture someone the most effective way," he said, scoffing. Something else shattered, and he pounded his fist against the door. "Oi! Cut that out!"

She nodded at the bedroom door. "That's exactly why he needs to be here. We need to teach him right from wrong, to show him love and happiness rather than whatever ills his parents have inflicted upon him. Besides, I have a lot to make up for; I owe it to everyone to play my part now."

Sighing, Cormac lifted a hand to her face, brushing away a stray strawberry-blonde curl. She held her breath, knowing that he could see the word 'SNEAK' spelt out in faded pimples.

"You don't owe them anything. That's why I love you, though; you always want to do the right thing for others," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

* * *

"Calm down, I'm sure he's around here somewhere," Cormac said.

Marietta shook her head, unable to form any words. How could she have failed already? It'd only been two days, and yet John had managed to escape. She had no one else to blame but herself, either; although Cormac had been distracted by the Wizarding Wireless Network's coverage of the latest Quidditch match, she was the one who'd left him unsupervised. She'd been too busy trying to figure out how to use the Muggle oven—as part of the care arrangements, she'd had to dismiss their house-elf—to notice that he wasn't still in his room.

They'd spent the morning searching the entire house to no avail. He definitely wasn't underneath his bed where he'd hidden the first night. Chewing her nails, Marietta looked out the window towards the field, remembering how John's eyes had trailed there the other day.

"I'm going to check outside."

She marched across the yard. Her heart thudded with every step she took, her blue eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of him. It'd only been three hours since she'd last seen him. If he'd run away, he'd probably be at the moors by now—if he hadn't tripped over or run into wild dogs first…

As her eyes roamed over to the crypt, however, she paused. The gate was still closed, but one of the large doors was open a crack.

With her heart still thudding, she slowly crept through the gates and pressed on the door. She winced as it creaked upon opening, but when the sound of sobs echoed up the steep concrete staircase, she knew her hunch was correct.

"John?"

The sniffling stopped. Although she knew she should avoid using her wand, Marietta withdrew it from her pocket.

"_Lumos._"

The soft glow helped drive away some of the goosebumps covering her arms as she descended further down into the crypt's depths. The stairs soon levelled off to a smooth, flagstone floor. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness for a moment, reminding herself that it was not ghosts staring back at her, but her wand-light reflecting against the polished name plaques lining the smooth walls.

"John?"

"Go away! I'm not here!"

Marietta swung her wand in the direction of the timid voice. There, pressed up against the concrete mound in the centre of the room that housed one of the original Edgecombes, was the little boy. His knobbly knees were pulled up to his chest, tears streaming down his freckled face. A trail of dirt lined the hem of his white robes.

She silently tiptoed over to him, careful not to make too many sudden movements lest he took off again.

"I've been worried sick about you," she said, sliding down the mound.

He sniffed again. "I want to go home! I want my mum and dad!"

She sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrank away from her touch.

"We've spoken about this before… You're to stay with us for your own good. Think of me as your new mother—"

John's head flew up. "You'll _never_ be my mother," he said, his voice laced with more venom than she'd expect an eight-year-old could ever have. "I want my mum!"

Her eyes narrowed as she pushed herself up, and she felt her blood begin to boil. Here she was, helping someone else's child, and he wasn't even grateful.

"Yeah, and I'd like my mother back, too, but thanks to people like your parents, I never will," she said before she could stop herself.

He peered up at her with defiant eyes, but she could see the confusion within them. "My parents didn't hurt anyone. They didn't wear scary masks like my Uncle Walden. They told me they didn't."

Sighing again, Marietta slid back down against the cold wall. She watched John carefully, seeing the tears still streaming down his face. Her hand trailed to her forehead, brushing over the scars, as she remembered how she'd also once betrayed the right people in favour of pleasing someone who'd filled her with lies.

It was her job to show him the right way, and she couldn't do that without letting him know some of the history behind why he was there.

"Do you know where you're sitting, John?"

The boy shrugged and mumbled, "Not home."

"We're sitting in my family's crypt. It's been here for generations, with many ancient wizards and Muggles alike buried within its walls." She saw him shiver slightly, but she pressed on. "Some of them, however, were put in prematurely. You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters did many terrible things, and people like your parents supported him—"

"They didn't! They were good like everyone else."

It broke her heart to hear the conviction within his voice.

"My mother," she aimed her wand-light at one of the granite plaques opposite them; it shone more brightly than the others, "should still be with us now. She was at the Ministry when she was killed, simply for being too slow to apprehend Harry Potter. She hadn't even known he was there, but quick as a flash, the Death Eaters tortured her before one finally decided they couldn't stand her screams anymore and murdered her.

"My father is there, right next to her, killed for coming to my mother's defence. My cousin is over to the right, murdered because her mother couldn't prove she was half-blood and had fled, leaving her and my uncle—his body couldn't be found—to pay the price."

John shivered, but she pressed on. "Mr McLeggan's uncle, Tiberius, was also murdered, simply because he was too powerful in the Ministry. The same goes for countless other innocent people, who were punished for not being pure enough." She held up his white robes, showing him the part that wasn't dirty.

Tears continued falling from John's eyes and a bubble of snot clung to his nose as he stared around the crypt. She wasn't sure if he understood exactly what she was saying, or if he was simply spooked by the knowledge that he was surrounded by bodies.

He drew a rattly breath. "I wouldn't hurt anyone. My parents are nice. Please, I want to go home!"

His words stabbed at her heart, almost bringing tears to her own eyes. He seemed so fragile, so helpless. She felt around in her pocket for a handkerchief, but something else met her hand. As John buried his head into his knees again, sobs wracking his bony shoulders, she pulled it out and stared at it.

Somehow, the plush dragon's unseeing red eyes looked as sad as its owner. She examined it, only to feel her heart pang again when she saw a message sewn into its back paw:

_Always be brave, Pollux._

_Love, Mummy._

It certainly didn't sound like anything a crazed killer would write; in fact, her own mother probably would've said the same thing. She looked at John, who was now rocking back and forth. Perhaps the dragon would comfort him, make him a little less reluctant to stay in the house with them?

She wiped back a lock of curly hair threatening to stick to her own wet cheeks, and her fingers brushed the scars on her forehead again. Shaking her head, she stuffed the small green dragon back into her pocket before he could see it.

Focusing on the plaques and her duty to ensure no others made their way to the stone walls, she ignored John's echoing sobs. The Ministry worker had warned her that she had to be tough, to not fall for any trickery the child would try. John didn't seem like he would hurt anyone, yet Dolores Umbridge had also seemed like she had the students' best interests at heart. She wouldn't fall for it again.

"John? Your parents and their friends caused this. Do you understand that? They're not good people."

She held her breath, praying he would say yes so they could return to the house with the fresh start she'd hoped for. John shook his head, however, and sniffled.

"Okay then… I think perhaps spending the night here will give you time to understand," she said.

She peered at him, hoping for him to change his mind, but he resumed rocking back and forth. Turning on her heel, she headed back up the narrow stairs. His scared sobs followed her up, causing her heart to pang with each wail, but she closed the door behind her.

"_In Varietate Puritas,_" she whispered, trying to remember that it was for his own good.

* * *

_**Chapter two continues with secretfanficlover's 'Who is He?' and concludes in White Eyebrow's third chapter, 'What is Sacred?' Please check these amazing stories out! :)**_


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